


Lobsters

by ladymelodrama, salzrand



Series: Jade Sea Scrolls [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: <3, F/M, Jade Sea verse, LOBSTERS IN LOVE, RSVP, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymelodrama/pseuds/ladymelodrama, https://archiveofourown.org/users/salzrand/pseuds/salzrand
Summary: #JadeSeaWeddingArtwork by salzrand <3
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Jade Sea Scrolls [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592998
Comments: 137
Kudos: 75





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, friends <3 Don't mind me. I'm just gonna casually drop this secret project into your inbox ;)
> 
> Also salzrand, I want to add you as an official co-creator on the fic but AO3 won't let me (I'll try again later) - but anyway, thank you thank you thank you for all the conversations the past two weeks, the epic levels of fangirling, the pretty arts (which I think might break the fandom btw lol) and this whole Jorleesiexplosion which all started with that casual "oh here's nurse!Dany in repose, looking all like HE'S MY LOBSTER GET OVER IT"
> 
> The title to this fic is ridiculous, I know XD But this will always be the "Lobsters" fic for me :) It's a _Friends_ reference from forever ago when Phoebe's talking about Ross and Rachel and how lobsters are together for life: "He's her lobster" #OTPThings
> 
> I took the opportunity to tie in another request made by Laurizee <3 because it just worked soooo well and let's also consider this a second gift for my Jorleesi exchange person (to be revealed soon) because I just have a feeling you'll appreciate it like WHOA <3 <3 Plus _everyone_ else because we all deserve extra FLUFF after this week oh my god <3 <3 <3
> 
> Welcome to the Jade Sea wedding, ladies and gentlemen. Please RSVP accordingly <3

**_Daenerys_ **

At the end of the day, the harbor was always bustling, even in a small village like ours. Fishing vessels coming in from deep waters took their turns at the main wharf, unloading their catch from large nets into barrels and bins before mooring at the outer piers or dropping anchor in the open bay for the night, behind the protection of long stone jetties.

There were sailors, merchants and dock workers everywhere, crowding along the wide paths and wooden stairs leading up and down to the docks. Shouts, chatter and shuffling feet were constant on the stone piers and wood planks, as both men and women passed by each other in a flurry of energy, helping with the nets, taking down tallies, sorting herring and mackerel, sailfish and marlins. 

The dock was slick with saltwater, seaweed and fish guts and I watched my step as I squeezed my way through the crowds, holding my open weave shawl loose around my shoulders with one hand. The other was occupied, holding a basket of two bread loaves, limes, peaches and herbs that I’d bought in the village before making my way down to the docks to meet Jorah.

The setting sun flooded the harbor with an orange glow, spreading over the calm water like a thin coat of marmalade, reflecting liquid gold off lapping seawater. The sun was warm on my face and hair but the breeze was a little chillier that evening than we were used to in our temperate corner of the world, which is why I’d worn the shawl. 

Winter was coming, as the Starks were so fond of saying. 

We would feel it here, though not as harshly as in the northern reaches. Jorah told me winters in the south were fleeting things, sometimes passing by almost unnoticed. That would not be the case this winter, but we didn’t know that then. We didn’t know that we’d see white snowflakes fall on the blue waves of the Jade Sea before its end, a sight that hadn’t been seen in this place for over a thousand years.

For now, I merely sought out the more sunlit paths down to the main docks, thinking nothing more about the weather than that I was glad the sea was calm for Jorah’s voyage and that I liked the warmth of the evening sun on my face. Anything beyond that didn’t stick in my head, as I had other thoughts on my mind that were currently crowding out all the others. 

Those thoughts were one of the reasons why I’d decided to meet Jorah at the docks tonight and walk home with him. 

There was little distance between our villa and the harbor, no more than a quarter hour’s walk, with the heart of the village located only a little further up the coast. The path from home to the harbor was already familiar, as I’d walked it many, many times since we settled here, almost a year ago now. 

We didn’t walk home together every evening but enough that it was becoming habit. I kept busy during the day—in the gardens, in the village, around the house. But today, I found myself anxious towards the end of the afternoon, wanting to see him as soon as possible. To hear about his day. To tell him about mine. To talk with him. To just _be_ with him.

I was in love. Irrepressibly. Undeniably. Having come upon the revelation so slowly, I found myself slightly overwhelmed, now craving his touch anew, feeling anxious with his absence and delighting at his return, even after such short separations. 

It was the strangest, most glorious thing. To look at someone you know so well and suddenly see them for the first time. And in a way that I had to hold myself back from jumping into his arms whenever he entered a room.

Jorah was amused by the change in me. I could tell. And he was happy. Happier than I’d ever seen him. The lightness of his mood in the last few months spoke volumes, as did the hushed, ardor-laced words he whispered in my ear each night, as we continued discovering each other in ways that would have made me blush on the road to Vaes Dothrak, had I only realized the depth of my feelings for the man I rode beside.

His hands, work-worn but always so gentle. His hands on the curve of my waist, cupping my breast and running along the inside of my thigh. His soft mouth descending to claim mine, ginger whiskers tickling my lips and making me grin on his kiss. His weight above me, his strength as he gathered me in his arms, the feel of our bodies joined and moving together. 

I couldn’t get enough and found myself sated only until the next time. Which came soon enough these days, as the nights on the Jade Sea were long and balmy and we were making up for lost time. Honestly, it was no wonder that…

“Daenerys!” Jorah caught sight of me first, waving from the deck of the second ship at berth. It took me only a moment to find him, following his distinctive voice, meeting his gaze over the heads of the swelling crowd between us. 

He grinned and I grinned back, giving my own little wave. He was nearly done so I waited by one of the wharf’s sandstone pillars, stepping out of the way of the incessant foot traffic, where I wouldn’t be jostled by fish wives with baskets balanced on their heads and sailors with heavy packs, all on their way home. I set my basket at my feet. 

After he finished with the nets, Jorah came to me, greeting me with a sweet kiss that I stood on tip-toes to answer, one arm escaping my loose shawl to ring around his neck, pulling him down to meet me halfway.

“Missed you,” he said, bringing his forehead to rest briefly against mine. 

“Missed you too,” I replied, biting at my lower lip slightly, tasting a little salt and citrus for my trouble. I’d sent him off with a ripe lemon this morning, the first of the season. It mixed well with the mint lingering on my tongue, having recently tested a leaf for flavor from the few fresh sprigs poking out of the basket at our feet.

We lingered in a flood of sunset glow, which highlighted the redder curls in his hair and the orange threads in the sandstone pillar we stood beside. The docks cleared out quickly, as the ships were brought to their night berths at a steady pace, but there was an ongoing rush of activity and it seemed better to wait out the crowds rather than fight with them. 

In the meantime, my hands wandered to the front of his shirt, tugging him a little closer with a shy smile, wondering if now might be the time to tell him…

“Jorah, catch!” came a masculine voice nearby. 

One of the sailors had Jorah’s coat in his hands, retrieved from where he’d forgotten it on deck. As the sailor passed, he quickly balled up the garment and tossed it towards us. Jorah caught it deftly, with one hand. The other remained perched on my upper arm, his thumb caressing the soft skin beneath that shawl and the thin fabric of my linen dress absently.

“Thank you,” Jorah nodded to the man.

The sailor raised one eyebrow, gaze darting between us slyly, before saying, “No bother. If my wife looked like yours, I’d be quick gettin’ down the quay as well.”

The sailor tipped his hat and was off the dock and headed home before Jorah could answer. I felt him tense at the man’s words, likely for my sake. But the teasing was harmless enough and I was in high spirits anyway, currently impossible to douse. 

Besides, I liked it. And told Jorah so.

“What do you like?” he wondered, his mouth soft, his eyes curious.

“I like being called your wife,” I replied, honestly, with another smile stealing over my expression, my hand drifting up to those redder locks, musing over the way the sun turned his hair into golden fire. 

The others never questioned it, not from the very moment we arrived here. 

I couldn’t remember most of those first days, as I was lost to the whims of fever and grief. The healer who attended me knew that I’d recently lost a child and she watched Jorah keep vigil by my bedside, day and night for weeks, his devotion to me unwavering, as always. She’d drawn logical conclusions that spread far and wide. And we didn’t contradict them, letting them think what they wanted. 

It was safer that way. I never minded being mistaken for Jorah’s wife, even before. Gods, there were merchants in the markets of Vaes Dothrak who had made the same mistake, to which Irri would jump in to correct the offense to our Khal immediately. But not me. Because I didn’t mind, even when it wasn’t true.

But now, a longing, a sense of possessiveness, stirred within my breast every time someone used that title. Jorah Mormont’s _wife_. No other woman could claim it, so I would take it as mine. The fact that I lay with him each night and woke up in his arms every morning—was that enough? Or that I found myself saying his name over and over again in my head throughout the day, like a prayer? 

I wanted no other man’s hands to touch me. I _ached_ for him when we were apart. I could no longer imagine a future for myself without him in it.

All this was true before today, for months now. Looking back, perhaps much longer. I’d been a fool about my own feelings since the day we first met, at the edge of another sea, looking into blue eyes that brimmed with a gentle kindness and warm familiarity that blossomed with little tending. 

And today…

_I hope our child has your eyes_ , I thought immediately, my breath catching slightly on the natural way my mind had accepted the news, something I’d only discovered that very morning. 

I’d been pregnant before but it was so different this time. I’d felt a dizzying sense of power when I found out I was carrying Rhaego. There was honor in carrying the Khal’s child…and pride. So much pride. I’d eaten the horse’s heart and stood before the khalasar, declaring my child to be a prince of men, feeling the strength of a stallion riding within me, caught up in the prophecies of the dosh khaleen and the wild fervor of the horde’s bloodlust for war and vengeance.

But pride too often turns to ashes.

Lies and ashes. The taste of ashes in my mouth, the feel of ashes in my womb. Bitter, bitter ashes. All of it. Khal Drogo pillaged his way to his own destruction. And my son never drew breath.

Jorah’s child would demand no power and claim no prophesy. This baby would not sit on any iron chair or paint the world in scarlet colors of fire and blood. 

Even the child’s conception had been made in a place that spoke of creation. I was convinced I knew the exact hour it happened. Jorah had come home early and found me in my gardens, his fingers brushing specks of dirt from my cheek, a wandering hand that found the more ticklish spot at my waist, a peal of laughter, followed by a heady kiss spun wildly beyond our control. We made love on soft grass, beneath open sky, hidden away in one of the more secret plots of my gardens. 

I almost told him then, but was held back by the look in his eyes.

The word “wife” fell off my tongue almost as a tease, and I meant nothing by it. Titles meant nothing to me anymore. Titles and names had betrayed me, used me falsely. Only Jorah remained, when all else fell away. 

But I saw something more serious pass behind his gaze and wondered at it. An uncertainty? A hesitation? He seemed about to ask me something, opening his mouth only to close it again. He thought twice, swallowing back the words and smiling over whatever the question might have been, covering my hand with his own.

“Shall we go home?” he asked instead, throwing the coat over his arm and bending down to retrieve the basket at my feet. 

_Home._

White-washed walls and a red door. Fresh scents of lemons, jasmine, lavender and green ivy. Sunlight through our bedroom window, with hushed voices and Jorah’s rare, rumbling laughter mixing so often with the crash of waves down by the sea.

I nodded and took his free arm, marveling on the depths of that simple word, as always. A word that had been denied to me my entire life. A word now shared between us.

My news would keep a little while longer.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your response to this fic/art lobsterfest has been as lovely and warm as we could ever ask for :) 
> 
> So here, fave readers, have some more <3 <3 <3

**_Jorah_ **

_I like being called your wife._

Her words had teased the notion but her smile had been tender, her hand reaching up to play in my hair in a manner that was becoming habit. 

Did she mean it? Did she understand how quickly I’d make it so, if I thought she wanted it too? But I found myself still unsure, despite all that had happened between us. All that _continued_ to happen between us.

We hadn’t talked about it. Not in so many words. I failed to broach the subject, too afraid that it might break whatever blessed spell had led me to this life with _her_.

I assumed she’d grow tired of me soon enough. And perhaps a wiser man would have turned away a long time ago, protecting his heart from the pain that would inevitably follow, but I never claimed to be wise. If there was heartache awaiting me at the other end of this journey, I’d gladly bear it. If only because it would mean I’d stolen a few moments of happiness with her.

But Daenerys was stronger than my doubts, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. I wasn’t blind. I saw her expression when she looked at me. I saw the love that had blossomed within her since we came here, violet eyes shining brilliantly on an ancient, immoveable truth. 

That there is nothing so good in this world as to be loved, and to love in return.

Daenerys sought me out. She reached for me and kept me near. In the quiet hours of dawn, she told me things I’d never imagined hearing fall from her lips. That she’d found home, that she wished to stay with me always, that she finally knew why the poets felt compelled to write all their sweetest verses. 

After we returned home from the harbor, we made dinner together, moving around the kitchen in a familiar routine, wordlessly passing utensils and ingredients between us. Twin carafes of wine and water stood beside beeswax candles on the kitchen table. The candle’s flame reflected in the glass windows with others lit around the room, as sunset had bid its farewells and night was now settling on the Jade Sea. 

An iron pot hung above the hearth, chunks of fish and scallops boiling within. Daenerys scooped up a handful of chopped root vegetables to add to the simmer while I cut the fresh loaf of baker’s bread into even slices. 

We couldn’t afford a servant in the house on my wages. At the beginning, I felt guilt on that score, a painful reminder of old shame. 

When my coffers dwindled on Bear Island, Lynesse had badgered me day and night to come up with more. She didn’t care how I funded her lavish purchases, but she refused to curb her spending, even when I begged. I _begged_ her, trying to impress upon her how Bear Island was not, and could never be, Oldtown. 

And yet, I’d always been able to keep servants in the Keep and Lynesse had never had to scrub a floor or rinse a dish, not even when we fled to Lys.

But the wages provided by the Golden Company were ten times those of a Lysene fisherman at the nets. Here, in a small harbor, my wages were even less, and would remain so. Daenerys, a princess born at Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne of Westeros, destined to live in grand palaces and be adorned in the finest silks and jewels…cooked her own meals and washed her own linens. 

I could offer her no wealth, no handmaidens, no life of privilege. If we stayed here, she would always have to work with her hands, braid her own hair and stoke her own fires. 

“I like working with my hands,” Daenerys argued, more than once, knowing I doubted her words too often. To prove it, she would force me to look at her, into violet eyes that sparkled bright with aching sincerity. She insisted, “I like planting seeds and seeing them grow. I like baking bread and hanging wash out on a line. And I like being here. With _you_.”

_I like being called your wife._

“ _Khaleesi?_ ” I asked, softly, impulsively, as I drew the bread knife through that loaf, the hard crust flaking on the wooden board beneath. My eyes remained on the blade, as I cut off the heel and tossed it in a squat basket lined with checkered cloth.

She stood beside me, clearing discarded stems of carrots and the peeled skins of potatoes into a bowl. We were nearly shoulder to shoulder, had she been a foot taller. Instead, her shoulder brushed at my elbow and no higher.

She turned her head slightly at the pet name, looking up from her vegetables. I didn’t look at her, afraid I might lose my nerve if I did. I’d lost it once already, down at the docks, when she gazed up at me in the glow of sunset, her eyes filled with more love than I would ever deserve. 

My heart wanted to ask her. But my head said it couldn’t last.

In the contours of her lovely face, I too often worried I might someday find latent regrets written there, waiting to bubble to the surface later, after she’d finally realized that nothing held us here, nothing prevented her from returning to the path set for her from the hour she was born—her birthright, her father’s throne. 

_Nothing_ kept us here but the minor distraction of falling in love. 

She must know it. And though I would never doubt her feelings—Gods, there was no deceit in her, she was honest with her affections and generous with her touch—I would never hold her to them. She might cool towards me in time, as Lynesse had, and I told myself I would be reconciled to it. 

Even if it tore my heart in two.

That I should have her at all seemed impossible to me. These months, these _years_ with her—for even before I shared her bed, her company had become more important to me than all others. She was a gift from gods that I didn’t believe in. And what I was about to say might end this domestic dance and shatter the illusion that I’d convinced myself might be real. 

That she might be in earnest when she said she wished to stay with me always.

“Oh, you’re going to say something serious, aren’t you?” Daenerys replied lightly, cutting through the tension that I’d created with my naturally somber tone. When I neglected to bring my eyes up from that loaf of bread, she forced me to look at her, gently pinching at my arm and tugging at my sleeve to turn me round.

She let her mouth twist into a morose frown for a brief flurry of seconds, mocking my seriousness as she likely thought it misplaced— _my sullen bear_ , she tut-tutted often—before her eyes twinkled under that false expression. Without practice, she couldn’t hold it for long and her scowl soon dissolved into a wide grin once more.

“Maybe,” I admitted, unable to stop myself from grinning back. Her joy was infectious and her mood was especially light this evening. Enough that I was on the precipice of doing something rash and likely regrettable. 

_If you ask her and she says “no”, you’ll regret it forever._ The rational part of my head offered practical advice and I was tempted to take it. Again, I hesitated and the silence that followed ran a little long. 

Daenerys abandoned her work, too curious at the conflict currently written across my features. I couldn’t read her thoughts but I wondered if she guessed mine. Some nights she let me brood, but apparently not this evening. Her grin refused to recede and her hand was now perched on my forearm. 

“What were you going to say?” she asked, unashamed of her curiosity. I shook my head, trying to leave it alone, but she insisted, “You have to tell me now or I’ll wonder all night. I won’t be able to eat a thing and I’m famished.”

“You might not want to hear it,” I warned.

“Jorah…,” she gave her own warning, almost sternly.

So did the good sense in my head: _Don’t do it. You’ll regret it, old man…_

But my good sense was no match against the charms of my darling girl, her pretty smile, her wondering glance. I took a long breath, as if preparing for a plunge into deep water. 

“What you said earlier—about being my wife,” I started, looking down again, and then elsewhere. At the velvety red of that carafe of wine, at flickering orange candlelight in a dark windowpane. If I kept looking into her gorgeous eyes, I’d lose all thought and wouldn’t be able to continue. And now I was committed. 

I swallowed and closed my eyes briefly, forcing the words out, “Did you mean it?”

There was a beat of silence. And I felt as if I was in sudden freefall, fingers slipping from a ledge that I didn’t know I’d been holding, the hammering in my chest becoming the dirge that would play me out. As soon as the question was asked, I decided I didn’t want to hear the answer. 

We hadn’t spoken about the future, we hadn’t made plans. We were happy, just as we were. Why was I forcing this? Why did I need to know? 

_And why isn’t she saying anything?_

Each second that ticked by was torture and I…

I opened my eyes suddenly, as I’d felt arms slink around me, holding on tight. And when I looked down, I found myself facing Daenerys, as she’d sunk against my chest, burying her head under my chin, her cheek pressed against my breastbone, her body flush with mine. My arms completed the embrace on their own accord, my chin sinking down to rest at the top of her silver-blonde head.

Relief washed over me, even though she still hadn’t said a word. She waited until my arms were around her, until I _understood_.

“If you’re going to ask me to marry you, do it sooner rather than later,” she mumbled against my chest. “Otherwise, we’ll be standing here until the dinner goes cold.”

“Daenerys…?” I pulled back just a little, tipping her head up so I could read her face. She stared up at me, her eyes crinkling on that same grin from earlier.

It was an expression that lingered in her features, one that she’d worn for months now, ever since that night we first kissed on the balcony. She hid nothing of her feelings for me. She was _fearless_ in her love, and I envied that fearlessness. I’d never known that love could be like this, as the Mormonts held their feelings so close and Lynesse’s smiles had been too linked to the gifts she received from my hands, gold and silver baubles gaining her favor fastest.

The only gift I could grant Daenerys was my steadfast devotion, which I gave freely. And would have done, even with nothing granted in return. But I’d take her kisses, so long as she offered them. I’d take the feel of her in my arms and in our bed. The scent of her hair, the dance of her violet eyes.

She bit at her bottom lip to keep from saying more, although she was impatient for me to ask the question. Still, she knew I’d want to finish this myself. Even if it killed me. 

A man with no talent for words, I could manage only a plain and raspy, “Will you?”

“You’re such a foolish bear sometimes, you know?” she answered slyly, before burying her head against me once more.

She’d told me that she never felt more at peace than when listening to the sound of my chest rising and falling beneath her ear. She listened to it now, her grin deepening on her reply, “But I think I’ll keep you anyway.”

“Is that a yes?” I daren’t hope, but found myself chuckling at her manner nonetheless. 

She nuzzled closer, finding her preferred place, close to my heart. She teased me no more, “That’s a yes, Jorah.”


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey. Canon in (J and) D just started playing. Do you hear it? ;) 
> 
> Haha or maybe something a little less bland and traditional. _La Vie En Rose_? Or maybe _Blackbird_? Hmmm, let's leave it as reader's choice <3
> 
> Our wedding photographer was on hand to mark the day and the bride/groom are extremely happy with her efforts. Scroll down and I guarantee you'll be pleased as well :) 
> 
> Thanks for coming to the Jade Sea wedding. The reception will be small and informal, with many fluffy desserts just because. The final chapter of this fic will be coming up soon. Probably in the next couple days. Until then Xo

**_Daenerys_ **

I told him that I didn’t want to wait. And Jorah, never one to fail me, found us a suitable holy man within the week—a Yi Tish monk on pilgrimage from his mountain monastery, who would not ask questions and would remain discreet. 

“Daenerys?” I heard Jorah call up from the foot of the stairs. He asked, “Are you almost ready?”

“Nearly,” I promised, from our bedroom, answering only as my head emerged from the neckline of the dress that I was pulling over my shoulders. 

It was a pale color, almost a dusty lilac, like the veiled shade of morning skies just before dawn, made of the same light, airy fabrics they were so fond of in Qarth and Slaver’s Bay. I gathered my long hair to one side, twisting the looser strands down the front of the fitted bodice, before smoothing down the skirt, liking the feel of delicate patterns and careful stitching beneath my hands. 

I’d considered wearing one of my plainer, linen frocks. This wasn’t to be a grand ceremony. It would be just the two of us and the priest from Yi Ti, but it felt right to mark the occasion with something a little less every day, nonetheless.

Besides, this might be my last chance to wear it. At least for a while. Give it another month or two, and I wouldn’t fit into most of my clothes. It was an inconvenience I’d gladly accept, knowing that as my belly grew, the days until I held the babe in my arms would shorten. 

Jorah bought the dress for me some time ago, from a talented seamstress who should be sewing for kings and queens across both continents, but who, for whatever reason, was content to remain in the village where she was born. Her prices were reasonable and much lower than the merchants from Qarth. Still, it was an extravagance that he shouldn’t have indulged in. 

I told him so. He neglected to answer my scolding and only said, with hardly-veiled adoration in his voice, “That color brings out your eyes, _Khaleesi_.”

I blushed at his compliments, his voice sparking a fire in me too easily. In the end, I couldn’t refuse the gift. I would never refuse any gift that came from him. 

As I stood before the looking glass on my wedding day, fixing my soft braids and giving a final, critical eye to my attire, I had to admit he was right. The Targaryen violet was only heightened by the pale color of that pretty dress.

In my reflection, I watched myself smile softly, not so much at my appearance, although I was pleased with the way the dress looked and knew Jorah would be pleased as well. He was always pleased with me. But my smile was irrepressible. I was _so_ happy. I couldn’t remember another time when I felt this happy, not in my entire life.

I had no doubts about this. If anything, I was only anxious that we hadn’t done it sooner. That I hadn’t run off with him the day we first met. I had no regrets about abandoning the path that Viserys had set me on, with little care as to whether or not I would survive the journey, doomed from the start. 

My brother’s cruel voice would be in my head forever—taunting me, telling me I defiled and failed our family name. But I didn’t listen to Viserys’s voice anymore. When my brother’s voice started raging, too often Jorah’s voice would drown him out, even though my brother’s voice was shrill and insistent, in life and in death, and my Mormont husband so often spoke in a hushed manner, preferring silence and sparse words. 

_My husband._ My heart flipped on the title. Only one hour more and it would be true in the eyes of all gods and men.

Finished with my hair, my hands came together at my waist for just a brief moment, palms spreading over my abdomen slowly. That first day, I’d been so anxious to tell him. After stopping myself down at the docks, I found it hard start again. I’m not sure why. 

I still hadn’t told Jorah. But I would. Today, I promised myself. 

He deserved to know. I wanted him to know. I wanted to see his face when he found out he would be a father, and the joy I hoped the news would bring. But Gods, I was nervous about telling him. I shouldn’t be; I knew that. Still, as the week passed I started to wonder if…

_Perhaps he likes things as they are. Perhaps he won’t want them to change._

The doubts were silly, nonsensical things, but they persisted. I shook my head, casting myself a reproachful glance in that mirror before leaving the bedroom. 

I nearly told him when I descended the stairs, meeting him on the dais below. For he was as handsome as I’d ever seen him, dressed in his family’s colors, those greens and blacks that hearkened back to the Northern woods and meadowlands, pine logs snapping in a fire and rustic cabins dusted with snow. 

In his left hand, he held a small bouquet of wildflowers, aster, roses, cornflowers and daisies, all picked from my gardens while I was dressing. His eyes were fixed on me as I walked down the stairs, moving from my face, down the length of that dress and back again. He offered the flowers to me only in afterthought, as his attention appeared thoroughly diverted. 

I took the flowers with a grin and turned slightly, gathering my hair again and silently asking him to help me tie up the lacing on my dress. He did, his large hands working as deftly with the delicate laces as they managed with ship rigging. After he was finished, I felt his hands come to rest on both my shoulders, as he pressed a lingering kiss against the back of my head.

And once again, I was _flooded_ with those feelings for him that first broke over me months ago. I turned to him, looking up to meet a piercing gaze of unbridled affection. 

“You take my breath away, _Khaleesi_ ,” Jorah said, in a husky tone.

“You’re rather handsome today yourself, my lord,” I replied, my own tone betraying that those words weren’t nearly enough. I was tempted to reach up and kiss him, but worried that the kiss might delay us further, as it would be no chaste thing.

He must have read my thoughts, for he grinned, almost cheekily. But he was uncomfortable with the compliment, as always, his eyes falling to the wildflowers in my hand, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and the tips of ears going just a little red. He reached between us, hands playing at the silk-like fabric of my waist, before coming back to steal one of the daisies from that bouquet.

With a fluid, careful motion, he folded the stem on that flower and slipped it in the loose braids of my hair, just above my ear. I stood very still, waiting for him to finish, looking up at him once it was done. I had no mirror except his blue eyes, which said the addition of the daisy suited me very well. 

That temptation to kiss him grew stronger, too quickly turning into fervent desire, written clearly across my open features.

“Soon,” he promised, before taking my free hand in his own, squeezing my fingers gently. “But come, lass, or we’ll be late.”

### 

The salt-kissed sea breeze on the cliffs was mild. My lavender skirt and silver-blonde hair stirred in its grasp, but only enough that I felt like it was the whisper-touch of the gods of this place or the ghosts of my ancestors, all giving me their blessings.

Surely, they smiled upon us that day. 

We stood on the cliffs above a stretch of coast that extended for miles, high tide breaking on black rocks and racing up the stretch of white sand. Sunlight reflected and bounced off blue-green waters, with gulls diving for oysters and crabs in the surf and seafoam. 

The sky was dotted with clouds of white cotton, way up in its high, blue rafters. And the air over the water was clear enough that you could pick out the archipelago of Pearl Islands in the distance. 

We stood beneath a tall hardwood tree, hearty and weather-tested, draped with silver-green moss, in a spot of flickering shade and sunlight that shifted under the rustling of leaves.

The Yi Tish monk would have joined our hands together but Jorah hadn’t released mine since we left the house. As the priest spoke, our fingers took turns with their caresses, needing no ritual to bind us together.

This ceremony was afterthought. The reality of this union was long decided. I would have made my vows to him the same night he asked me to marry him, with only the stars for witnesses. 

And as for his vows to me—well, Jorah’s vows were in every touch, every word, every action since the day we spoke of prayers and home in a dusty Dothraki tent, miles and miles away. I had never and would never find a man in this world who would love me half as well.

Or who I would love as dearly.

“Who comes before the gods of sea and sky to join their houses?” the monk’s voice took on a lilting cadence as he spoke old words, mixing the tenets of his faith with those customs he knew were common along the coast. 

But I knew nothing of customs or formal words. I knew nothing at all. Nothing but the sound of the sea and the sight of my groom, tall and broad and strong, the edge of his tunic and those red-blonde curls fluttering in the sea breeze. The feel of my hands in his, the shade of his blue eyes. 

He always carried himself like a knight. But in his finer clothes, he looked every inch the man he was born to be, Lord Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, and I found myself imagining a life where I might have exchanged vows with him before a heartwood tree, with a diadem of red winter berries in my hair, in a land of swirling snow and sea ice.

It could be no sweeter than this one. Of that, I was convinced.

“We do,” Jorah spoke for both of us, as I forgot to answer. The monk turned to me to make sure I was in agreement as well. His dark eyes were curious as they fell upon me.

Jorah had told him little and I wondered what he must think of us. Our accents would betray us as westerners, but the East was a muddle of cultures and tangled histories. So perhaps he wondered nothing at all. I gave him a slight nod and the look in my eyes must have satisfied him, for he nodded back and continued, with a cheery, fatherly smile:

“Then let your houses be joined. Let you keep to each other and cherish each other and hold each other when the winds turn fierce,” he recited. “Jorah and Daenerys, I declare this union to be made and act as a witness to it, in the presence of the gods of sky and sea. If it be your custom, you may pledge to each other words to make it so.”

The only wedding I’d ever attended was my own to Khal Drogo, where I was sold, like a broodmare, and no one asked me to say any words at all. No one asked me anything. Or even talked to me, not my groom, not my brother, not Illyrio Mopatis. No one…

Except the man I now pledged myself to. If I’d only known then how our path would twist and turn to this moment...

He tightened his grip slightly, perhaps thinking similar thoughts, while bringing one of my hands up to press a kiss against the soft part of my palm.

“I am yours, Daenerys, if you’ll have me,” he stated solemnly, giving me one last chance to refuse him. He would never push his claim, not even to something that already belonged to him. This was his way. I was reconciled to the fact that he would never change. 

I loved him all the more for it.

My hand broke away from his, trailing the inside of his fingers softly as I stole them away, to raise that hand to the side of his face, tracing his rugged features with gentle caresses.

“I’ll have you,” I replied, surprising myself at the force in my tone, soft though the timbre of my voice remained. I kept my eyes locked with his, promising, vowing, as my fingers curled over his cheek, “For you are mine and I am yours, Jorah. Until the end of our days.”

“Always…,” he agreed, murmuring the word like a prayer. 

The priest might have left our presence, for all I knew. If he had words left to say, they would fall on deaf ears. For Jorah was currently caught up in the same wondrous spell as I was—that there was nothing else in the world but the sky and the sea and us. 

Only us.

My eyes begged for that kiss we’d denied ourselves earlier, my hand falling from his face to trail down his chest. Jorah didn’t need the reminder. He closed the distance between us with one easy step, slipping his arm around my waist and gathering me up in his strong arms. 

As our lips met, I felt the baby within me stir, despite all good sense that said it was still too early and the babe had yet to quicken. 

But I didn’t question it. Nor the notion that came to me suddenly, like a bolt of hot lightning against a black sky, that said this child was a girl. That she would live, where her brother had not. That she would thrive. That she would love and be loved. By us and by others. That her father would not only rejoice in the news, but that he would love her fiercely.

All this I knew in Jorah’s kiss. It was neither our first nor our last, but one I’ll remember until the end of my days. The play of shadow and light, the crash of sea, the expanse of sky, and my lips parting beneath my husband’s. 

My husband, my lover, the king of my heart.

_Always_ , Jorah’s soft voice echoed in my head. 

_Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Wedding Photo, courtesy of wedding photographer extraordinaire, salzrand <3
> 
>   
> 


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm a little sad to be saying goodbye to this fic, not gonna lie. LOBSTERS IN LOVE <3
> 
> Anyway, here you go, friends - warning: max levels of romantic fluff may be breached in the reading of this chapter. Watch out for the fluff bombs that have "Anne" scrawled across the left corner especially ;)
> 
> Much love to all! Your comments on this fic have been universally so kind and sweet...and a lovely distraction to umm, everything else? lol
> 
> Hope you're all staying safe and healthy *blows appropriately-sanitized kisses from at least six feet away* ;)

**_Jorah_ **

We went down to the beach for a while afterwards, as the day was too pleasant to waste. 

Daenerys shed her shoes almost immediately, saying she wanted to feel the cool water on her bare feet and dashed into the surf laughing, lifting the hem of that dress with one hand and holding her bouquet of wildflowers aloft with the other. I watched from further up the shore, but she soon beckoned me to join her. I told her I didn’t want to get my boots wet but she pouted a little and I finally relented, stripping them off and rolling up my pant legs before wading out into the ebbing tide. 

Feeling much younger than my years, I suddenly decided that splashing a little water her way might be warranted. It was a playful thing, but my aim was too true, soaking one side of her gown.

“Ah, how you _dare_ , Jorah Mormont!” she exclaimed, caught unaware. But her grin was wide and her own retaliatory strike forthcoming. 

She let go of her hem and reached down to send a spray at me with a scoop of her free hand. I shied away from the deluge and gave back to her much the same. She was quick but in deeper waters and without escape. She squealed brightly as I took two long strides and caught her in my arms, lifting her above the cresting waves.

“Do you surrender?” I asked, holding her fast. It was an easy thing as she weighed next to nothing. 

“Never,” she replied with a heady laugh, her one hand still free and reaching down towards the seawater to splash me again, drenching us both in the process. 

By the end we were both half-soaked, as much from the breaking tide as our impromptu attempts to drown each other. Soon we were at the edge of the tide’s far reaching fingers, kneeling on the wet sand and completely oblivious to the number of times the rushing surf soaked us again, and again, tongues tangling and lips trading two dozen kisses. Our words were sparse but heavy with affection, lost to all but our ears under the roar of that crashing surf.

_I love you._

_I’ll always love you._

The sun was low in the sky by the time we abandoned the beach. I took her hand and helped her rise from the sand. She gave me the wildflowers for safekeeping as she rung out her skirt and the ends of her hair. She was drenched and dripping, as was I…but Daenerys looked a vision, as always.

_My bride. My wife._

“Do you like what you see, Ser?” she wondered, noting the lingering glance, thinking it was the wet dress that caught my attention, hugging her curves and leaving little to the imagination. And that was certainly some of it. But no matter what she wore, no matter where she was, no matter what she was doing—I found I only had eyes for _her_. 

“Aye, Daenerys Mormont, I do,” I replied honestly, using the name only as a slight tease. 

Her family name was worth ten times my own. A hundred times. Even in defeat, the Targaryen name was gleaming silver against the tin of others. I was under no illusions that she would set it aside in favor of taking mine. 

But her eyes flickered on the name and I watched her cheeks go a little pinker under that late afternoon sunlight.

As we wandered up the beach, I handed her back the flowers and retrieved our discarded shoes from their spot in the warmer, dryer sand. A little further on, she asked me, “Say it again?”

“Say what again?” 

“My name,” she smiled tenderly, although her eyes remained on the loose, grey stones and thin seagrass at our feet. The hill path was narrow but we walked side by side, shoulders brushing.

I turned at her words, a little surprised. She _kept_ surprising me. 

I lifted my arm over her small stature, free hand coming to rest around her shoulder as I pulled her closer. Ducking my head, I pressed another kiss to her damp hair. As I pulled back, I repeated the name, “Daenerys Mormont,” in a hushed, sensuous voice that I usually reserved for our bedroom.

She smirked at the tone and the rest of our walk home was spent in contented quiet, with little touches and lingering looks speaking louder than any words we might have managed.

### 

“I have something to give you,” Daenerys mentioned, almost hesitantly. 

Her voice appeared before she did, as I’d gone out to the villa’s balcony after I changed out of those wet clothes. I was leaning against the stone ledge, eyes drawn to the horizon. The Jade Sea had no rival for sunsets, whatever the season. But late autumn was upon us and a string of clear days had graced us with marvelously painted skies over calm seas, all tinged with golden, violet and blush-colored hues. 

I lingered on that balcony, not quite ready to say goodbye to this day. Not yet. My heart was full, my hammering doubts of all those days, months and years prior nearly defeated by the sheer magic of wedding the woman I loved and spending the day in her company. 

It was difficult to brood with Daenerys’s voice drifting on the jasmine-scented evening, the sight of her appearing beneath the balcony archway, in a dryer frock, using a scrap of cloth to dry her damp hair—

I was a rich man. Richer than Tywin Lannister. Richer than the Iron Bank of Braavos. No one could persuade me otherwise. Rich in mercy and love and all the things that truly mattered. I’d been given more than I’d ever lost and I would never forget it. Not ever. Not for as long as the gods allowed me to draw breath.

And in that moment I believed myself to be happier than I would ever be again, for what more could I ask for? What more could I be given? 

“Oh?” I wondered, curious. The hesitation in her voice piqued my interest. We’d agreed not to give each other wedding gifts, although we’d both broken that agreement already. The wildflowers, the books…

At breakfast, she’d handed me back the books I gave her on the day we met. 

_Songs and stories of the Seven Kingdoms for the new Khaleesi…_

Those books. 

I’d had nothing to give the Targaryen princess on her wedding day and not a spare coin to my name. I could have given her nothing. There was no requirement, no expectation. Her husband would give her a horse, as was the Dothraki custom, and Illyrio Mopatis gave her those petrified dragon eggs, perhaps out of guilt for his part in selling her to the savage horselords.

I’d arrived late and as I approached the Khal’s feast, I saw her. Daenerys.

I saw her sitting up on that raised platform, between her painted warlord and her snake of a brother. I saw her blink back tears bravely and clutch her hands in her lap, to keep them from trembling. I saw her wide, violet eyes survey her new people and her new life, and I thought on all the terrible things that must have happened to her before that day and all the terrible things that might happen to her afterward, and I…

Impulsively, I went back to my rented quarters and I retrieved those books. They were dusty and old, with bindings worn nearly beyond use. There was no hiding their age. I’d carried them with me from Bear Island and they were nearly all I had left of home. 

But Daenerys had nothing. Only a family name that would bring her grief and ruin. Her story was the saddest kind, a motherless girl, groomed for a slaughterhouse. So I gave my books to her, thinking she might like the stories, that’s all. 

For a long time, I found myself shame-faced to think I could afford nothing more or that I’d thought it wise to give her such a lackluster gift.

Daenerys insisted she loved those books. And she’d said it enough times that I was finally tempted to believe her. And this morning, she gave them back to me, with a gentle expression on her comely features. 

_These are ours now, Jorah. Not mine, not yours. Ours._

Our fingers brushed against each other across those worn bindings for a second time.

But she had something else, as well?

Under the archway, she finished drying her hair, setting the cloth aside on a low stool. But she stayed where she was for a moment, still hesitating. Free of industry, her fidgeting hands came together, fingers running over themselves. 

“Daenerys?” I asked, as she’d gone silent and contemplative, her gaze on the tile floor between us. This roused her, and she soon decided on a course of action. Her hands broke free of each other and she came to me, taking my hand and leading me to the balcony bench where she bade me sit. 

She remained standing before me, seemingly too anxious to sit herself. She refused to pace but looked as if she wanted to. I’d be concerned but the day had been too perfect, and my mood was too carefree. No matter the cause of her hesitation, I felt confident it was misplaced.

Perhaps she thought I wouldn’t like her gift. Perhaps she worried that she would disappoint her bear.

_As if such a thing were possible_ , I thought, thoroughly bemused by the absurd notion.

I brought my hands up to rest on her hips, drawing her closer and keeping her there. She was willingly caged by my loose grip, looping her arms around my neck, both hands inevitably drifting to my hair. Under her soothing, slow touch, I titled my head up to meet her gaze, perfectly content to spend the entire evening doing nothing but this. 

Her lips parted under a tender glance. 

“We’re going to have a baby, Jorah,” she said. 

Just like that.

With no adornments, except a gentle tone that betrayed how much she liked the idea. 

Her pretty grin widened and her intelligent eyes danced, delighting in the mess of emotions that she likely saw play out on my dumbfounded features. My hand, which had been drifting to her waist under languid caresses only a few moments before, went absolutely still. As the spot I currently hovered near was no longer occupied by my hand alone.

A child.

A child was growing within her. 

_Our_ child.

I was going to be a father. Daenerys was going to be a mother. Daenerys, my _wife_ , was carrying our child.

None of these thoughts made sense to me. I could barely fathom the fact that I’d married her, or that she loved me, or that I’d run away with her, or met her in the first place. And now…

“Daenerys, I…,” I could manage no more, my voice a ragged thing, my hand stretching over her womb in wonder. One of her own hands left its other occupations to join mine, her small fingers coming to rest over my large ones, in reassurance, in love, in shared knowledge of that child’s existence.

“You’re pleased,” she spoke for me, confident, with just a shadow of relief coloring her voice. The relief itself surprised me. Perhaps more than anything else that had transpired on this blessed day. Surely, she couldn’t have doubted…?

“Yes, _Khaleesi_ ,” I forced myself to form actual words. She deserved that, at the very least. 

She deserved _everything_. 

I pulled her down gently, bringing her onto my lap. My arms slid around her, my hands clasping themselves together, protectively. 

_I am yours and you are mine…_

_And this child is ours, Jorah._

Gods be good, I’d keep her and the baby safe in my loving embrace forever if I could.

“You couldn’t find a happier man if you searched the world a dozen times over,” I granted her, because it was true. And it was all her doing. 

At my words, her grin remained firmly in place. And she was at once somehow more beautiful than I’d ever seen her. My forehead dropped a little, my nose gently nuzzling at the side of her pale cheek, breathing in those sweet scents of lavender and lemon that clung to her always.

“Nor a happier woman,” she replied in kind, turning and sinking further into my arms, exhaling softly as she rested against my chest, her silver-blonde head buried comfortably against my shoulder.

Our embrace outlasted the sunset.


	5. Lobsters in Love: The Jade Sea Wedding Album

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3


End file.
